The Words Escaping
by onewhowatches
Summary: Her favorite characters are more real than she thought; Commander Vimes, Havelock Vetinari and one confused Ponder are stuck analyzing the unaverage teen girl's mind: hers. Can Cory push through the odds and come out better? Or will she fall, broken? r
1. Chapter 1

The girl stared at the offender with hate. "Time for you to die," she muttered as she raised her hands. She winced.

After a brief lance of pain, the bane of her existence exploded in an eruption of blood and pus. "Goddanged zits," she said to her reflection, as if her hated enemy's appearance was its fault.

She turned at a knock at the door. "Occupado," she called, turning on the faucet to cover up her actions.

"Gramma says stop pickin' at your face and get the hell outta there," said one of her brothers through the door of the bathroom. "Cuz other people hafta use the bathroom too. Like me!"

She snickered. "Too bad for you. I'm busy. Why don't you go pee out a window?"

"_I don't __wanna!_" the petulant whine grated in her ears. "C'mon, Cory, hurry up!"

The last part was said in the desperate tones of someone whose bladder was going to rupture, and soon.

She quickly stuffed her frothy toothbrush back in her mouth. "Fine," she said, slightly muffled by the brush. She turned off the faucet and flushed the toilet for good measure.

Pressing the button to clear the Yahtzee game, she opened the door and smirked at one of her wriggling little brothers.

"Both of you?" she asked. "Are you going together, or do you wanna take turns?"

Conner glared at her. "Perv!" He rushed in, pushing both her and Robby out of the way.

"Hey!" Robby kicked the door. "That's not fair!" Cory shook her head. Little brothers, she thought. The never get old. Most of the time, anyways.

Cory trotted into the slightly warmer kitchen. She glanced at the clock. She was earlier than usual; out of bed before 6:30. Good for me, she thought, bad for them.

She looked for her grandparents, and spotted her meds instead. Usually, she took them with some of her grandparents coffee, mooched of course, but had to settle for water instead. She heard a grunt.

"Hey, Natey," she said without turning around. "How are you?"

" 'M _tired_," he said, scratching his blonde ponytail. "And m'hair is greasy."

"Then wash it. I'm goin' outside, 'kay?" Cory felt a giggly, hyperactive fit coming on. She let one loose, and leapt up into the air, landing on the dirty wooden floor of their mobile home/trailer. It made a hollow _thwock_.

She giggled again and rushed outside. Yup, Maggie's leash ain't there, she thought excitedly, although she couldn't tell you why. Not that she would.

Her little sister, Sarah, wasn't up yet, which meant trouble for her if she wasn't dressed and ready for school in less than half an hour.

Not that Cory could talk. She had her tiny black shirt on and overly-large pastel-stripped pj bottoms on.

Here's what she basically looked like: A scraggly mop of blonde-reddish-brownish hair hung over arched eyebrows and vaguely speckled blue eyes. She had a short thin nose, until you got to the end, where it bulged a bit.

She had a face full of freckles, and was only the shade of brownish-peachish-pasty kinda white she was then due to years of being burnt to near blisters, or just blisters, almost every year of her life. She was kinda skinny, verging on scrawny, and had pointy elbows, blunt fingers and almost no fingernails, cuz she bite them. A lot.

Oh, and she's about four foot ten. But don't call her short. Not unless you want bruised shins every time she walks by. It's _vertically challenged_, thank you so very much.

Her brother, Natey, sort of had her face, but bigger, longer, and hairier. And zittier. His eyebrows were thicker, his hair was longer+ and he was, on the whole, bigger and longer and hairier and zittier than her. His eyes were blue and honest.

Sarah was a good four inches taller than Cory, but bigger. And four years younger, which pissed her older sister off to no end. Conner and her had red hair, and only a small splattering of freckles. He was two years older, but still shorter than Sarah, _and_ Cory. His eyes were brown, hers were hazel-blue.

Now, Robby stood out like a sore, but cute, thumb. He had olive skin, brown hair, brown eyes and not that many freckles. He was shorter than Cory, but not by much. He was a year older than Sarah. He _did_ have Cory's features, but they looked better on him than they did on her.+

Cough. Back to subject.

Cory shut the door and wandered over to the gazebo that was snugly nestled between the seemingly immortal bush-tree, and the burnt out, barn shaped shed. Reminding herself not to hit the minivan, she bounced over to where her grandparents were sitting with their coffee.

"Cory, why aren't you wearing shoes?" he grandfather asked. "You're gonna step on something."

"Am not," she said, sitting down in a chair, absentmindedly petting on of her dogs, Lucky. He wagged his stump of a tail and panted, his mismatched brown and blue eyes lighting up.

Maggie, on the other hand, dropped a muddy, slobbery rock in her lap. Cory squeaked. "Gross!" She carefully flung it away. "You're not supposed to eat rocks, poochoid," she scolded.

Her grandmother chuckled. "What do you expect? She _is_ the Psycho Dog," she said, taking a sip of her coffee.

"Grandma, I've been meaning to ask you," Cory said, fiddling with her, uh, fingertips. + "Can I go to the library? I'll ride my bike, and be back before dark." Which'll be like, eight-thirty, she added privately. Summer's coming.

"Sure, sweetie," her grandmother nodded.

"You'll have to bring Natey," her grandpa scowled. "And be back at six, six-thirty. No later, or you won't be doin' it again."

Cory winced. "Right after school? That only gives me, like, two _hours_. How'm I supposed to do anything in _two hours_?"

Grandpa rolled his eyes. "Quickly." Cory sniffed, patted Lucky again, then threw Maggie's tennis ball. The smallish dog raced for it, straining at the linked wire, chain and clothes leashes. They were all that kept her from biting, well, nipping the ankles and hands of anyone who came near. She tried herding them, like cattle.

Cory walked back inside, her mood considerably dampened. "C'mon, Natey. Get ready for school."

:) ): ;) D: :3 :D o-o Oo; TT.TT YoY . :B . - . 3

(A tip: Don't call it a button nose. She will hurt you.)

(Instead of being just pasty)

+(Not to mention blonder)

+ (It's the eversoslightly cleft chin. They all got it from their father. The nose Cory and Robby shared, however, came straight from Mommy dearest.)

+ (No fingernails, remember?)

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Cory looked at the rows of books. "Mort _still_ isn't here?" she exclaimed under her breath. "How is that possible?"

She scanned them again, smiling faintly at the large black security guard when he walked by.

"Now, come on," he said. "Where's that smile?"

She grinned. "Hi," she said.

He smiled at her. "That's more like it." He adjusted his belt and walked away. Cory watched him go, shaking her head.

She looked back at the shelves, wondering if she should go listen to music on the computers. Her eyes were drawn towards the end of the row of hardbacks. What the, she thought. That wasn't there a second ago.

Her fingers wrapped around a dull brown spine. "Leather…." She flipped it over in her hands. "Cool…" The library was quiet, and Cory suddenly had the feeling that she should put the book back down and get as far away as possible.

"It's just a book," she said, trying to ignore the sensation that her skin was attempting to hide behind her. "Maybe somebody lost it, left it behind."

Her skin seemed only slightly mollified. I dunno, it said in a English accent, that book _bodes_.

Whatever, she thought at it. You may technically be the largest organ I have, but that doesn't mean I have to put up with you.

I could just walk away, it said. And I'm your instincts, by the way.

How can you walk away when you have no muscles? Cory asked in nastily.

Her skin -instincts- shut up. She walked to the info desk and placed the book on the counter. "Excuse me, does this belong to the library?"

The woman with a pinched face glanced down at it. She picked it up, and opened the cover. "No," she said. "Do you know a 'Cory Basika'?"

"That's me," Cory offered helpfully. "Why?"

"Because _your_ name is written in here," the woman said. "Now, can I help the people behind you?"

Cory took the book and went away to find her brother. "Natey," she hissed. "Time to go!"

Her brother looked up from his game/chatroom. "Now?"

"Yes, now. Come on!"

After much poking, pulling, whining, nagging and getting distracted, they checked out their books and left.

When they got home, it was noisy. And messier than usual. "Oh great," she cursed. "Just what we need. More fighting."

Natey glanced at her. "It'll be fine, don't worry," he said hopefully.

She shrugged, settling her heavy backpack more firmly on her shoulders. "Let's hope so."

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(Don't ask.)

(Not a nice one, it was the kind you heard when someone says "Wot a pretty li'l girlie.")

:) ): ;) D: :3 :D o-o Oo; TT.TT YoY . :B . - . 3

Cory was in her room, writing in a frayed spiral notebook. When she'd looked in the brown book, all she'd found was blank, construction paper-like sheets. Or parchment, she'd thought, chuckling a bit. It was only 8:30.

A knock at her door attracted her attention. Grandpa stuck his head in. "Time for bed, your Grandma's feeling sick," he moved to shut off the light.

"Hey!" she glared. "But I'm writing!"

"Write later," he said. "You're sixteen; you have seventy years to write." He flicked the switch and closed the door.

Cory lay down and fumed at her cracked, stained and bumpy ceiling. She couldn't turn on her lamp, but she _could_ open the blinds. She reached over and untucked the strings, pulling them down.

Sepia toned light spilled onto her pillows. "I'm goin' to school for writing, but then he tells me _not_ to," she muttered angrily. She grabbed the leather-bound book and opened it, placing it on her pillow.

The plain pages lay open and Cory saw a stylized H.V. in the very bottom left corner of the inner cover. Just above it, her name was written in neat, orderly letters. There was something under it, in incredibly small gold letters, and the light wasn't bright enough to read them.

Cory picked up a pencil, and started scribbling angrily. Mostly about herself, and her complaints. After a half hour, she paused, then changed it into a story.

When she glanced at the clock, her eyes dry and slightly burning, it was two o'clock, give or take ten minutes.

Her vision blurry, she wrote something else absentmindedly as a bit of her character's dialogue. "I'd love to be in Discworld, or whatever." She'd ranted earlier about the books she could never find. Like Mort. She closed the blinds and slipped the book over next to her radio.

She closed her aching eyes, her back throbbing as she stretched out and snuggled under her sheets. Her teddy bear was clenched in a vice grip and used as a sort of cushion for her chest.

And she fell asleep.

:) ): ;) D: :3 :D o-o Oo; TT.TT YoY . :B . - . 3 :) ): ;) D: :3 :D o-o Oo; TT.TT YoY . :B . - . 3

:) ): ;) D: :3 :D o-o Oo; TT.TT YoY . :B . - . 3 :) ): ;) D: :3 :D o-o Oo; TT.TT YoY . :B . - . 3

A/N: Ladies and gents, I have something I must say. The chapters are only titled when a certain someone is in them. I ain't tellin' who yet, but you'll find out soon enough. While I was writing this here little ficcy, I wrote author's notes much like this one for some chapter. Lemme check.

…

….

…..

Looks like from chapter seven to the one I have written now. I think it's fifteen. Anyhoos, I have over eighty pages and fourteen chapters to type. But I won't if you don't think I should.

I should tell you that in my a/n's, I wrote to YOU. While you didn't exist as my readers (maybe readers) then you were referred to as the imaginary readers or reviewers. Just something to tack on. Now, for the chapters with the prewritten notes, my NEW one will be on the top, or at the very bottom. Old ones'll have, I dunno, tons of these: / in front and after them, 'kay? That work? Good.

signed,

onewhowatches :3


	2. Chapter 2

: : : : Disc-world-claimer: Doesn't belong to me, or anyone is my family, unless I happen to be secretly related to Terry Pratchett, which would be SWEET, but basically impossible. -sighs- Oh, the things I do for love. 

Actually, that last part's true. How else would someone as lazy as myself type up so much stuff? Sheer willpower, peoples.

On with the show. : : : :

: : : :

: : : :

The man stared at the man behind him. The slight concave curve of his mirror let his see everything behind him; even out the window. "I don't get it," he said, shaving carefully. "Vetinari's being contacted by a _what_?" 

"A young girl, apparently," said the tall, muscular young man. "He wants to show you."

The man sighed, finished shaving and turned around. Making sure his razor pointed to the Hub, he gathered his cloak and helmet. "Come on, Captain," he said wearily. "We might as well find out what's going on, eh?"

Captain Carrot Ironfoundersson nodded. "Yes, sir."

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"Commander, so good of you to come," the Patrician looked up from the paperwork and books scattering his desk in orderly piles. "I think this may be of interest to you."

Vimes stared to the left and a bit up of Vetinari's shoulder. "You called in the Watch for something about a book?"

The long pale fingers gently touched a finely leather-bound cover of a book with no title. He pushed it forward. "Open it."

Gritting his teeth, Vimes did so. He held it in his hands and vaguely noticed the embossed name. He frowned, and turned a couple of pages. All that was there was tiny, cramped writing, barely legible. The near solid block of writing was only broken with the occasional curvy line or indentation.

"I see nothing, sir," he said. "Unless you can read between _these_ lines."

"She does have quite a…close hand," Vetinari said. "But try _reading_ it, further into the book."

Vimes' lips twitched. He flipped a few pages further, and saw the dialogue and sudden appearance of half-drawn sketches. He went back to the front and scanned the first few lines. He read them again, then glanced at the name.

Vetinari smiled slightly as Vimes reached the end of the writing. The Commander's eyes widened.

The Patrician stood up and walked to where Vimes stood, taking the book from the stunned man. "I did not call the Watch, Commander," he said. "I called in the one man I believed could help me to…understand this young girl."

" 'Why is it,' " he read aloud, " 'that every time I find something I enjoy, like writing, something, or someone, comes along and ruins it? I don't wanna sound like some sort of cry baby, but _God!_ Sometimes it's just too _hard_ not to be. Plus, I keep finding things in life that only happen in books are happening now. Any second now, I expect to find myself talking to birds and mice, and singing stupid songs about my true love, or whatever. I mean, I like reading about those soppy girls, but I do _not_ want to be one.' "

He closed it with a snap. "It gets rather more interesting later on," Vetinari said, "as she turns her complaints into a story. However, I do find that last line puzzling." He set in on the desk.

" 'I'd love to be in Discworld,' " Vimes said hollowly. "It's like she's on a different world."

"From what I read," Carrot said, "she is. Someplace called Earth." He paused. "And that's she's poor, and different from other kids. Smart, too, which is why not many of her peers like her. And…" he trailed off. "Well, she's--"

He looked imploringly at Vetinari, who took up the pace smoothly. "She has intimate knowledge of our world, but thinks it fictional. That it's a book, written by a Terry Pratchett, and that she," he closed his eyes, " 'would _kill_ to get my hands on a copy of _Mort_, and maybe give it to Grandma, cuz I lost hers before I could even get halfway into it.' "

Vimes shook his head. "Shouldn't you call the wizards in for stuff like this? Sir?"

"I will," the tall man said. "But, Commander, I called _you_ in, because she seems to have the same rage inside her as you do."

Vimes sent a surprised look at Vetinari. "How could you know something like that from reading what she wrote?" he exclaimed. "You've never met her, so how could you know?"

"The girl has some talent with writing," Vetinari said. "I merely read between the lines."

Vimes flushed at his own words, calmly thrown back at him. "Listen, sir, I have things to do, and I can't be bothered with some little girl's _diary_." 

He swiveled on his heel and started marching out. "She _needs_ your help, Sir Samuel," Vetinari said. "Will you help her?"

With that on his mind, Vetinari thought, he should come back soon. He turned to the book. He sat down at his desk and drew it closer to himself. After a moment's contemplation, he dipped his quill in the ink bottle and started writing in neat, black letters.

:) ): ;) D: :3 :D o-o Oo; TT.TT YoY :B -3- :O d:

Cory blinked, and made a valiant effort not to slouch back down. She needed better posture, and she'd get it by gods, even if she had to practice it during the most boring lecture in her life. Which she was sitting through right now. 

School's nice, and all, but there's a limit to how many times a person can listen to something they'd learned five times already. And hers had been reached. (Two lectures ago.)

So she did what she always did, and took out a notebook. Only she grabbed the leather book instead. She hadn't opened it in over a week, just carried it with her. She'd even forgotten that it was with her.

She flipped open to where she left off, only to find that there was half a page of old-fashioned writing after her last curly line. At first she was pissed because someone'd

Ruined the nice writing space.

Then she wondered how they'd written in such straight lines. Then she noticed the ink, which was a weird black color and seemed to run more than a normal pen.

Finally, it clicked. The book hadn't been out of her sight for more than a few minutes at the most the entire time she'd had it. She held an inner debate, but got distracted by the words.

_I believe I can help you. For all the discriminations against you, perhaps I can make _

_the wounds left by them heal. After all, someone once told me the same, and we are both alive and well. I wish to know more of you, and there is someone I would think beneficial for you to meet. For both of you. I also wish to know why you are so angry all the time. If you are as young as I think you are, there is no reason for you to be. It is intriguing to see someone as refreshing as you vent their feelings. You seem like someone who could spike the interest in anyone you meet._

_Sincerely,_

_V_

Instead of a signature, there was a large, ornate V that looked like a stamp. Who the hell is V? Cory wondered, before the anger and realization swept over her.

She snatched up her purple pen and wrote: How dare you? How dare you read this? I can't believe someone would be as disregardful as to read something that not only wasn't theirs to read, but was private! Whoever you are, you are the biggest, meanest, goddamned, mother-fucking son of a bitch I've ever met! You should be strung up by your toes over a pit of ammonia mixed with bleach and forced to listen to nails on a chalk board until your _ears_ bleed.

From,

Cory Basika 

There, she thought. _That_ outta teach 'em!

:) ): ;) D: :3 :D o-o Oo; TT.TT YoY :B -3- :O d: :) ): ;) D: :3 :D o-o Oo; TT.TT YoY :B -3- :O d: 

:) ): ;) D: :3 :D o-o Oo; TT.TT YoY :B -3- :O d: :) ): ;) D: :3 :D o-o Oo; TT.TT YoY :B -3- :O d: 

: : : :

/ / / / / / / / A/N: This is a new a/n, hence the slashes.

Shelley: Yeah, hence!

Me: Shush, Shelly, I'm talking.

Shelly: Oops, sorry.

Anyhoo, this is new cuz I realized, as I was typing it up, that Vetinari sounds painfully OOC. TT.TT Sorry. And I watched the House Bunny (FOR FREE ) with my bf last weekend. This week's Sunday. So that Shelly thing up there just popped outta nowheres. 

But that doesn't make Vetinari sound any less horrible. I'm gonna leave it as it is, though, because I don't wanna mess with this story much, cuz I likes it. D: Stoopid, but what can you do?

Beat me?

…

Don't answer that. / / / / / / / / / 

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…..

signed, 

onewhowatches :3


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